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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002052">Danse Macabre</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynchronicityRose/pseuds/Dragons_Echo'>Dragons_Echo (SynchronicityRose)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sweeney Todd (2007)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Typical Violence, Dark Historical Fiction, Drama, F/M, M/M, Murder, Musical, Rated For Violence, Revenge, Victorian Attitudes, historical fiction - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:55:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynchronicityRose/pseuds/Dragons_Echo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They were two souls each with a heavy heart. One was light, an assistant to a local baker, still holding onto what hope he has. The other is a barber with a gruesome new way about life, after his wrongful imprisonment by one judge. Power imbalance. Murder. And a dark relationship forms between the pair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Dark City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I finally watched Sweeney Todd in 2019, during the 31 Nights of Halloween and fell in love with it. I was hesitant for so many years because of the gore moments (I like horror but not with gore, think...Ju-On: The Grudge or The Others). Even Sleepy Hollow I braved in 2015, so I couldn't resist gaining ideas during our Covid lockdowns. </p><p>Writing has always been my go to therapy above all else, unless writer's block hits. In a way this was theraputic to write after four months of writer's block during the lockdowns battling depression I never had before until last year. </p><p>Some songs will be from the movie but I tried incorporating my own as well. I hope you Sweeney fans enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even after long hours had passed working in the mines, he could still hear his leader barking out command after command. A pickax is slung across his shoulder. His once lively, young face now has been rendered to that of an aging man rather than a boy of twenty- one. He is not the only one who carries such appearance.</p><p> The miners much like himself walk through London's smoke filled, grunge streets late one night or early that morning. When you're in darkness for so long, it's hard to figure what sort of day it is. His muscles creak and groan, while he wonders if it is possible to make it to his house on Oxford Street. A simple of home, with no fancy chandelier or silver glasses. Only himself and his cat companion.</p><p> This was the life for Terra Lysander. A young man who should be at college or trades-school, rather than toiling in the underground to make a living. His mother, a sweet, kind-hearted soul lives far away in America, along with his father, a thinker of a man, sometimes perhaps too much of one with a good heart.</p><p> Both had misgivings of their second child moving here, to such a city. <em>Why can't you be like your sister? She has a good life here, you don't have to move so far away </em>his father had tried to persuade, though it was a futile attempt.</p><p> "I want adventure father. It will be fun father," Terra murmured, turning a weary corner. "Ha. Perhaps I have made a mistake…but…" his eyes flicker up towards Big Ben. A faint smile upon his face, to feel his shoes against cobblestone streets. <em>"I have sailed the world. Come so far from home, to turn back now…It's a gem, this London. Beneath its vermin and beggars, it's not unlike any I've seen before, this London! There's no place like London!" </em></p><p>He near ran into a baker's cart of goods, in which the man haughtily warned him. "Watch where yer goin' scrub!"</p><p> "Sorry, I have a bad habit of daydreaming." Terra replied, tipping his cap.</p><p> The man shook his head in disbelief. "What's the point in that? Waste of time I always tell my wife."</p><p> Terra pursed his lips, as the man rolled past, calling out the goods he held. "You're a ball of sunshine." He muttered.</p><p> Yes.</p><p> London certainly is not the happiest of places. It crushed him to see women and children, babies on the streets begging for food. Anything. He did not understand why they should suffer so, it was not their fault as someone once told him.</p><p> But there were happier moments. Just yesterday, he saw a marriage taking place in someone's yard. And the day after that, he saw an orphaned boy find his forever home, after so many years waiting.</p><p> Turning another corner, he happened upon Fleet Street. He had to cross through in order to get to Oxford, it was a little community of well-dressed citizens. He could feel their stares as he walked by, keeping his head down. Two men approached. Well-dressed. Coy smiles.</p><p> "Hello, you look exhausted, care for a drink?" one asked.</p><p> Terra made no effort to reply.</p><p> Far was he in the mood to be shanghaied. A smell suddenly wafts through his nostrils, that of crust and meat. Placing a hand over his stomach, he wished he picked something from the baker having not realized how hungry he was.</p><p> He could see a small building just at the corner. Dirty glass windows peered out like eyes, as he walked slowly along. His green eyes travel upwards to its name.</p><p>
  <em>Ms. Lovett's Meat Pies</em>
</p><p> His hand touched the doorknob. Muddy boots squelch across wooden floorboards, layers of dust coated its tables and chairs. The place would have looked abandoned had it not been for a woman behind the counter.</p><p> Her head was that of a scraggly dark brown in curls. A bored expression about her pale face, drumming her fingers absent minded against an equally dust covered counter top. She gasped upon the sight of him.</p><p> "A customer. Here?! <em>Wait! Please have a seat! Would you like a pie or maybe some ale? Sorry if I'm a little on edge. I haven't had a customer in weeks. I wouldn't blame them because these are the worst pies in London!"</em> She spoke as quick as she could, ushering Terra into a seat by a window.</p><p> Before Terra could reply, a meat pie was placed on a plate. Moldy and barely cooked. He shuddered when a spider ran across it, dusting it off. "Thank…thank you," he managed out. Swallowing, taking only a tiny bite at first.</p><p> It took all he had to hold that alone down, but his hunger betrayed him.</p><p> "Call me Ms. Lovett by the way, love," the pie baker declared, dusting off her hands. She proceeded in pouring him some ale. "I own this little shop. Handed down from my father it was."</p><p> "Well, I disagree about these being the worst pies…they're not too bad." Every bit of it was a lie. Ms. Lovett knew it, but she did not seem bothered by it.</p><p> "Oh, you're too kind love, really. It's a wonder that judge hasn't had me closed down yet." Ms. Lovett declared, sliding him a small thing of ale after pouring it in a cup. "Here ya go, wash it down with that. Good on your stomach."</p><p> "Thank you."</p><p> Only out of caution he took a sniff of it. That did not smell like the meat pies, at least, good and soothing down his painfully dry throat.</p><p> "Judging by your appearance, I can see you're a mine worker. Your clothes tell all." Ms. Lovett exclaimed, stepping on that very same spider running near her feet, with her heel.</p><p> "It's not a pleasant job, but it pays enough I can keep my home."</p><p> "You look tired, how far away is it?"</p><p> "On Oxford ma'am."</p><p> Ms. Lovett pursed her lips. She knew the kind of men and women who liked to skulk around, these ungodly hours. Placing a hand on her hip. "Rather far isn't it?"</p><p> He shook his head. "No, I can walk."</p><p> "Your legs are all stiff, come."</p><p> Before he could protest, he found he really was stiff. Every muscle screamed 'not another step'. Casting his eyes upwards, he followed Ms. Lovett to a room upstairs. A small, one room with a comfortable couch he could sleep on. There was a cabinet in which she kept her gin. A grandfather clock ticking away, close to two thirty am.</p><p> Handing him a blanket and pillow, no sooner had he laid himself down, his eyes drift to a close.</p><p>
  <strong>~*~</strong>
</p><p> He awoke around nine am the next morning, the clock telling him. Terra slept with one arm underneath his pillow, the blanket pulled up to his neck. At first he assumed it had all been that of a dream, meeting Ms. Lovett. His stomach was full and sour at the same time, signaling it to be truth he was not back in his house on Oxford Street.</p><p> Stretching his arms above his head, a yawn escaping past chapped lips, Ms. Lovett came to check on him bringing with her on a silver tray a cup of warm chocolate. That in itself tasted surprising better, than her meat pies.</p><p> "Rise and shine, how are we this morning?"</p><p> Terra gave a simple nod, as he took the cup. "Better, I think. I ought to be going soon though, Mr. Vanderian will have my head, if I'm late…"</p><p> Ms. Lovett nodded in understanding. "If you think you can return then, but…." She gave him a curtsy. <em>"Please do come again, my first customer. I thank thee for your patronage, to my humble little shop on Fleet Street. Do tell your friends, it's really nothing like the others, on Fleet Street." </em></p><p>"Of course, Ms. Lovett, thank you again."</p><p> He returned to work on that same morning. "Put your backs into it, ladies!" Their 'leader' barked out. His face was hard and skinny. Yet no one dared to say anything, spite of not having a single ounce of muscle on him. "C'mon, I'm not paying you by the hour!"</p><p> "You're not paying us at all." Terra bit out, just loud enough for said man to glare his way.</p><p> "What was that, Lyssander?"</p><p> Everyone stopped short what they were doing. The tension is ripe and thick. Terra could taste it on his tongue, along with the dirt and grime. He did not move, even when Mr. Halland breathed his sour breath into his face.</p><p> "I really am startin' to think, you're forgetting your place, Terra.." he murmured. "Your daddy got ya into this job. Remember?"</p><p> "That may be, Mr. Halland. …I quit."</p><p> The statement was sudden. One part of Terra told him to shut up, to beg Mr. Halland his job back. Yet, the other part. The illogical part of him, moved on to Fleet Street. He pushed opened the door of Ms. Lovett's pie shop, earning a startled look from the baker.</p><p> "It's not even lunch yet, Terra. What do I owe this visit?" she asked, not minding another bug that ran across one of her pies.</p><p> Terra gave a faint smile, jutting out his chin. "I'd like a job here, ma'am, if you would be willing an assistant?"</p><p> The look on Ms. Lovett's face that day, was about as bright as the room was dark.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Poor Fool, Silly Nit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something heavy sits on his chest. Confusion is at first noticeable on his face, when he slowly rises from his sleeping position. A black mane coon is perched on Terra's stomach, gazing at his face with expectant green/yellow eyes. Chuckles at once escape from Terra, removing his blankets.</p><p> "Alright, alright. I know you're hungry, Taulia. I'll get it in a second." Scratching behind her ears he dressed and his other morning rituals, then proceeds to feed his cat. Taulia has been with him since she was only a kitten, named loving after his great-grandmother. She did not care for his other family members odd enough. Terra was the only one, she trusted enough to be around.</p><p> Once she devoured her breakfast, he noticed mail slipped through the slot in his door. Letters that mattered not to him were tossed aside for later. The one he was truly concerned to read, was from his cousin. A sweet lad named Victor.</p><p> <em>To my dear cousin Terra, </em></p><p>
  <em> Long has it been since we have spoken, is it not truth? I miss your presence now, more than ever. Mother has died, I'm afraid to say. She passed from pneumonia, in the middle of the night. I am left in charge of our home, much to my sibling's greatest dislike. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I did not want it personally to begin with, oh well…mother had it in her will, that I am to inherit House Dejarin. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> How are things in London? I've heard your father is not happy about your decision, it is safe to say you can never truly please a parent no matter what is done or said. I on the other hand commend your decision, you must tell me more about it in your future letters. I hope my short hand has improved, I've found it so much easier to write in my journals than day by day entries. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Truly yours, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Victor Dejarin</em>
</p><p> Sweet Victor. Out of everyone in his family, Terra cherished his cousin above all others. He was the only one, who truly understood and shared his sympathies with. When the grandfather clock chimed eight am, he knew he could not be late for work.</p><p> Ms. Lovett is not lenient on tardiness.</p><p> "Be good now, Taulia. Please don't leave any 'surprises' for me, when I come home." The cat merely stared up at him, as if to say 'Me? Never!' before he went out into the streets.</p><p> The air seemed to be denser today, than it normally was. Perhaps it is due to working in those mines, his lungs were still filled with dirt he imagined. Fearing for his heart and lungs, he made certain to drink what water he had every so often, believing it could wash away the bacteria.</p><p> "Sorry I'm late, I overslept." Terra replied no sooner, than when he pushed open the door. Hearing its familiar chime atop it.</p><p> Nellie Lovett only huffed in response, casting him a weak grin. "You're lucky I don't reprimand you, Terra…seeing as I don't have a single customer, yet." She sniffed at the end, even though it is glaring obvious why she has none.</p><p> "You know, ma'am, I think if we scrubbed this place, from top to bottom it might be more suitable, for customers rather than rodents and spiders."</p><p> A spider ran over his shoes, just as he uttered the insects name. They always appeared to hang about him, he never understood as to why. No matter where he went there, he would see one. Nellie simply stared with her deadpanned expression.</p><p> "You goin' to jabber all day love, or help with some errands?" she asked, handing him a slip to take with him.</p><p> She was a lovely woman, Ms. Lovett. Her red hair was curled, would be considered quite pretty if not for the rat's nest of a state. She preferred dresses in dark colors, in stark contrast to Terra's lighter choices, of blue and white.</p><p> His eyes read over the words in her neat cursive, moving to and fro through London's ever busy crowds. Not a day where he did not see anyone, out on the streets going somewhere. Children clutch their parent's hands; dog owners walked their dogs. He was fairly certain he stepped in a puddle of urine.</p><p> <em>How I love this place, all the same. It was too clean back in Connecticut, not enough adventure, or excitement in my life</em></p><p>No sooner had he returned with Nellie's groceries; he found the shop empty as ever. The woman was going to be broke one day, if business did not kick up soon. Her last customer choked and another before that died. Terra himself had not had one pie, since after his last one eaten. Drumming his fingers against the table top, a man walked in.</p><p> He could never forget those eyes. Two black, soulless things of what he used to be. His hair is black as night with a white stripe going down the middle. Face is blank and unreadable.</p><p> Terra slowly lifted his head, his heart beating with some excitement.</p><p> "A customer, hello. Would you like a pie?" he asked.</p><p> The man sits down without so much a word, in a huff. Terra chuckled.</p><p> "I'll take that as a yes, Nellie! Customer!"</p><p> Like a wisp of red and black smoke, she flew down the stairs.</p><p> "You gave me such a-- fright!</p><p>I thought you was a ghost</p><p>Half a minute, can'tcher?</p><p>All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks</p><p>Did you come in for a pie, sir?</p><p>Do forgive me if me head's a little vague--</p><p>What is that?</p><p>But you'd think we'd had the plague</p><p>From the way that people</p><p> Keep avoidin'--</p><p>No you don't!</p><p>Heaven knows I try, sir!</p><p>But there's no one comes in even to inhale</p><p>Right you are, sir, would you like a drop of ale?</p><p>Mind you, I can hardly blame them</p><p>These are probably the worst pies in London</p><p>I know why nobody cares to take them</p><p>I should know - I make 'em</p><p>But good? No!</p><p>The worst pies in London</p><p>Even that's polite</p><p>The worst pies in London</p><p>If you doubt it, take a bite--</p><p>Is that just disgusting?</p><p>You have to concede it</p><p>It's nothing but crusting</p><p>Here drink this, you'll need it</p><p>The worst pies in London</p><p>And no wonder with the price of meat</p><p>What it is</p><p>When you get it</p><p>Never</p><p>Thought I'd live to see the day</p><p>Men'd think it was a treat</p><p>Finding poor</p><p>Animals</p><p>Wot are dyin' in the street</p><p>Mrs. Moony has a pie shop</p><p>Does a business, but I notice somethin' weird--</p><p>Lately all her neighbour's cats have disappeared</p><p>Have to hand it to her</p><p>Wot I calls</p><p>Enterprise</p><p>Poppin' pussies into pies</p><p>Wouldn't do in my shop</p><p>Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick</p><p>And I'm telling you them pussy cats is quick</p><p>No denyin' times is hard, sir</p><p>Even harder than the worst pies in London</p><p>Only lard and nothing more</p><p>Is that just revolting?</p><p>All greasy and gritty</p><p>It looks like it's molting</p><p>And tastes like-- well, pity</p><p>A woman alone</p><p>With limited wind</p><p>And the worst pies in London!</p><p>Ah, sir</p><p>Times is hard</p><p>Times is hard,"</p><p> </p><p> "Well you survived Mrs. Lovett's meat pies; the worst pies in London," Sweeney declared, glancing at Terra and Nellie.</p><p> Terra took hold of his shoulder. "Some ale will not wash that taste down, how 'bout some gin?" He opened the cabinet doors, taking out a fresh new bottle.</p><p> Mr. Todd cocked his head to one side. "I sense American in your accent, boy."</p><p> "Aye, I was from America. Connecticut precisely. Decided to move here, great place isn't it?" Terra declared, pouring the gin into a glass.</p><p> Mr. Todd's face darkened at his mention. Nellie saw the way he clenched his fist, though Terra is unnoticing. "You've got a room over the shop, haven't you? If times are so hard, why don't you rent it out?"</p><p> "People think it's haunted." Nellie stated, sitting opposite of Sweeney.</p><p> "Haunted?" Terra and Sweeney ask in unison.</p><p> "Yeah. And who's to say they're wrong? You see, years ago something happened up there. Something not very nice."</p><p> Nellie leaned in close, as she related the tale of a barber and his wife. "There was a barber and his wife and he was beautiful, a proper artist with a knife, but they transported him for life and he was beautiful…Benjamin Barker, was his name."</p><p> Terra blinked slowly. Taking a sip from his gin. "What happened to him?" he asked softly. "This Mr. Barker?"</p><p> Foolishness."</p><p>"He had this wife, you see</p><p>Pretty little thing</p><p>Silly little nit</p><p>Had her chance for the moon on a string</p><p>Poor thing</p><p>Poor thing</p><p>"There was this Judge, you see</p><p>Wanted her like mad</p><p>Every day he'd send her a flower</p><p>But did she come down from her tower?</p><p>Sat up there and sobbed by the hour</p><p>Poor fool</p><p>Ah, but there was worse yet to come, poor thing,"</p><p>"The Beadle calls on her, all polite</p><p>Poor thing, poor thing</p><p>The Judge, he tells her, is all contrite</p><p>He blames himself for her dreadful plight</p><p>She must come straight to his house tonight!</p><p>Poor thing, poor thing</p><p>Of course, when she goes there</p><p>Poor thing, poor thing</p><p>They're havin' this ball all in masks</p><p>There's no one she knows there</p><p>Poor dear, poor thing</p><p>She wanders, tormented and drinks</p><p>Poor thing</p><p>The judge has repented, she thinks</p><p>Poor thing</p><p>"Oh, where is Judge Turpin?" she asks</p><p>He was there, alright</p><p>Only not so contrite!</p><p>She wasn't no match for such craft, you see</p><p>And everyone thought it so droll</p><p>They figured she had to be daft, you see</p><p>So all of 'em stood there and laughed, you see</p><p>Poor soul!</p><p>Poor thing!"</p><p> Terra's face grew white, but no reaction more so than from Sweeney. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up quick. Looking as though he could be ill at any moment. "Did no one have mercy on her?" he uttered, his hands shaking.</p><p> "So it is you. Benjamin Barker." Nellie said in both wonder and amazement.</p><p> Terra is the only one of the two left in confusion. His heart still hammering against his chest, thinking of that poor woman.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ladies and Gentlemen If You Please</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  For fifteen years he waited. Fifteen years he longed to see his wife, his daughter, only to find his wife dead and daughter under the care of a ruthless judge. Terra waited with apprehension down- stairs, for the pair to return. His hands folded in front, ignoring odd stares from those walking by. Gazing at the young man in such a place.</p><p> Even far off in Connecticut, he had heard tales of a very famous barber in London. A man with suburb skills the likes none have seen. Many gushed over Lucy Barker as well and their daughter, Johanna, who is no longer the beautiful baby girl, but now a beautiful young lady.</p><p> Sweeney Todd did not so much spare Terra one look, as he and Nellie returned downstairs. He did not see him until the next morning, after leaving from his house and feeding his cat.</p><p> He arrived early to prepare a breakfast, consisting of scones, with strawberry jam and fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee. From a young age, Terra loved baking. He found it a relief, as others would in writing or reading. The scones had no real recipe either, it was always 'a pinch of this, a pinch of that' on his mother's part.</p><p> Nellie Lovett could not remember a time, when she had seen the place in such a cleaned state. From the moment she took in the restaurant, passed onto her via her father, up until now.</p><p> "Terra, there was no need for that." She uttered.</p><p> "Nonsense, breakfast is the most important meal after all. Will Mr. Todd be joining?"</p><p> "Afraid he's…not one for company, Mr. T. But, you can take some up to him."</p><p>  Terra took a bronze tray, after placing the scones and coffee as Nellie finished the last of her meal. The stairs creaked and groaned as he walked up to the attic. His eyes flicker of seeing that man again, leant against those glass windows.</p><p> His eyes held a forlorn look. That of deep longing, great sorrow. His skin was so pale. His eyes are hollow, black things. Nellie was not wrong, as he heard some of their conversation. Years in prison had not done him well.</p><p> "Mr. Todd? I've brought some food, breakfast," Terra corrected himself, setting the tray on a lone table. "There's some coffee too, for ya."</p><p> "Did you know Lucy Barker?"</p><p> Terra shook his head slowly. "No sir, I only just moved here, on my nineteenth birthday. Can I get you anything else?"</p><p> No response is given. He made downstairs again, to find Nellie cleaning the dishes. <em>Well, it's a start </em>"Will he be alright, Nellie? He looks so gaunt…so pale."</p><p> "Give him time Terra, we all need it lord only knows." Nellie said softly, he did not notice how hard she scrubbed at one plate. "His wife was his treasure, Lucy Barker. When Turpin took him away, for no reason at all other than his own selfish lust, she poisoned herself…in the attic."</p><p> "God. Poor soul. Poor Johanna…"</p><p> What words can be said to another, whom endured so much? A tragic tale of love lost, never to be found again. This is not a fairy tale, their world. Once she had finished, she required they take a walk. To show Sweeney the minor changes of London and areas, Terra is not yet familiar with.</p><p> Terra found he had a difficult time in being around him, this Mr. Todd. It had nothing of his appearance, rather his newfound look on life. A stark contrast to his old one, from what he had heard vague.</p><p> A curious looking stage is visible in the center, of the villa. Glancing at one another, they made their way forward as a boy emerged from the curtains. He belted out how he had an elixir for growing one's hair.</p><p> In his hand is a small flask, of a green/yellow liquid.</p><p><em> "Hmph, a load of bollocks if you ask me."</em> Terra murmured.</p><p><em> "Pardon me ma'am what's that awful stench?" </em>Sweeney asked.</p><p> Nellie joined in. <em>"Are we standing near an open trench?"</em></p><p><em> "I think it smells like piss," </em>Terra conquered loud enough, as Sweeney chimed.</p><p>
  <em> "This is piss, piss wiv ink."</em>
</p><p>The boy's eyes widen as whispers floated from one to another, attempting to sooth them. "Let Pirelli's activate your roots sir."</p><p>
  <em> "Keep it off your boots sir, eats right through."</em>
</p><p><em> "The flies sure seem to like it." </em>Terra stated loud enough again.</p><p> Curtains swish aside, revealing a flamboyant man in unique attire. And a large moustache about his face. His eyes search the crowd, demanding to know who has declared his elixir to smell like urine.</p><p> Silence all around until Sweeney spoke. "I did," he announced, causing heads to turn. "I am Mr. Sweeney Todd of Fleet street. I have opened a bottle of Pirelli's elixir and I say to you, that it is nothing but an arrant fraud, concocted from piss and ink. Furthermore signor, I've serviced no kings, yet I wager that I can shave a cheek with ten times more dexterity, than any street mountebank."</p><p> The crowd looked on as he pulled from his bag, a barber's utensils. Gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "You see these razors? I lay them against five pound. You are no match sir." Gasps echoed, as Pirelli bent to examine the beautifully crafted, silver blades. A smirk crossed his face, already in assumption he will be victor, as Sweeney continued. "Either accept my challenge, or reveal yourself a sham."</p><p> "You hear this foolish man?" Pirellie smiled. Now please you will see how he will-a regret-a his-a folly!" he flung his lavish cloak. "Toby!"</p><p> The boy scrambled up the steps onto Pirelli's stage.</p><p> "Who's for a free shave?" Sweeney asked.</p><p> One man out of the many who did not accepted. Another eagerly went to Pirelli's. Sweeney shrugged off his coat, handing it to Terra while he gave Nellie his bag. "Will Beadle Bamford be the judge?" Pirelli asked, the smile on his face broadens.</p><p> "Glad as always to oblige my friends and neighbors." Beadle Bamford cracked a oily smile, declaring the barbers to begin. "The fastest, smoothest shave, is the winner!" From his coat pocket he took a whistle, blowing into it.</p><p> Pirelli sang as though he were in a opera, rather than a barber contest. Toby suffered as he moved his knife up and down along a belt, bloodying his finger-tips once again. Sweeney is precise whilst preparing his man. His hands move in a delicate manner, like one who deals with lace or fine china.</p><p>"You see? He has excellent hands." Nellie whispered into Terra's ear. "Study Pirelli."</p><p> "I am, Nellie. You can see a difference, between them."</p><p> Terra applauded with the others after Beadle announced Sweeney as the winner. "Well-a I bow to da better barber-a," Pirelli bowed. Sweeney's grin is animal like.</p><p> "Five pounds I believe it was,"</p><p> A scowl is seen on Pirelli, slapping the coin pouch in his opened hand. "I'ma man of my-a words," he muttered. Painful for him to admit he had lost.</p><p> "Maybe you could do something about that moustache."</p><p> At Terra's bold declaration, Pirelli feigned a grin, bowing respectfully to him. "And, who might this delightful young man be?"</p><p> "Terra. Terra Lysander."</p><p> "Well, you should know Terra Lysander, it is wise for one here to mind their tongue." He hissed low enough, as not for Sweeney or Nellie to hear.</p><p> Terra does what he can not to flinch, merely jutting his chin up. "I can hold my own, just fine sir…threats do not phase me."</p><p> "Everyone has a weakness, boy. You're no exception."</p><p> Pirelli gave Terra a mock pat on his shoulder, hollering at Toby who makes a dash behind the curtains.</p><p>
  <strong>~**********~</strong>
</p><p> He stayed a little longer outside, while Sweeney and Nellie returned to the pie shop. Everyday he saw that woman walking about, holding out her hand for her daily shillings. Dressed in rags for clothes. Her voice, though. Her voice reminded many much of a Siren's.</p><p> Terra is not unlike others who had fallen under her spell, dropping one shilling into her hand. <em>Poor thing </em>he thought at once, of Nellie's song to Sweeney, about Lucy Barker and her fate. Passing a local shop selling kitchen utensils, he thought of those old pots and pans of Nellie's, deciding to spurge and by her a few.</p><p> "You didn't have to do that, Terra," Nellie said. Shock laced in her tone. Sweeney returned upstairs again. Not making eye contact with him. "Love, you're 'bout to give me a heart attack, with all that you've done."</p><p> "It was no trouble at all Nellie, when someone's in dire straits it's only natural to help them. My father was strict on that." Terra answered, after bidding her good night.</p><p> "Sure, you don't want to stay here? I'm sure Mr. T won't mind."</p><p> "I'm alright, besides I really should get home to Taulia-my cat. She always misses me, when I'm gone too long."</p><p> Once he walked out, breathing in that crisp, London air again he made for Oxford Street pulling his jacket collar further up his neck. As to be expected, Taulia waited for him at the living room entry. Her yellow/green eyes gazing up at him.</p><p> He fed her, her dinner proceeding to write at once to Victor.</p><p> <em>Dear Victor, </em></p><p>
  <em> I thank you so much for that letter. I'm sorry about your mother, she was a good woman, she tried teaching us to paint once if I recall right. Much has happened in these odd few months, first, I became an assistant baker to Ms. Nellie Lovett. She's a good woman, albeit a little strange. Strange is not always a bad or evil thing, as many like to assume however, you and I know that. I say it only jest, dear cousin. Her shop has some hope, I believe. There is another I've met as well. I'm unsure how to describe him, this Mr. Sweeney Todd. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, he used to be Benjamin Barker, I'm sure you remember hearing of him right? From the wealthy folks in our town? He's changed much, according to he and Ms. Lovett. A drastic one at that, one who knew him would hard recognize him now. How are mother and father holding up? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I should write to them as well, if they're willing to speak that is. Lydia must be in her glory I imagine. Oh. Forgive me for ranting, Victor. I should not hold grudges against, my own sibling, I know that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Best wishes in all that you do, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ever your friend, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Terra L. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Benjamin Barker. That name rang throughout his thoughts all that night. A man of true mystery, now merely a silhouette of his former self.</p><p>
  
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